My life, my choice
by rayrae118
Summary: Harry's fed up with people trying to control his life; they weren't there for him growing up, so what gives them the right to say what he should and shouldn't be privy to? But when Sirius and Remus find out just what growing up was like for him, he may finally get that chance at the family he's always wanted. Officially abandoned in favor of its reboot: It's OK Not To Be OK
1. Chapter 1

**I'm starting to wish it were possible for people to actually learn Occlumency. I have too many ideas and thoughts floating around, and they won't let me go! Here's just one more example of what happens when I spend too much time on one particular genre of fanfiction. **

**This story is somewhat AU, but not really; takes place when Harry shows up at headquarters in the beginning of OOTP; this is what I wish would have happened. Harry with a little bit of a backbone, who's fed up with letting other people control his life.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Harry Potter, age fifteen, barely managed to stop his jaw from dropping as the house, now known as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, sprung up between numbers eleven and thirteen. He glanced down at his hands, which moments before, had held a piece of paper informing him of the location of the headquarters of the group known as the Order of the Phoenix, before fixing his attention once more on the elusive building.

"Fidelius?" he queried quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin glance at him sharply, but on Moody's sharp rebuff, the group made its way hastily inside before the werewolf could say anything.

The dark interior of the house did nothing to endear the place to Harry, but he held his tongue for now, and simply observed.

Mrs. Weasley was her usual tornado self, whirling through and sending his guards down to the kitchen as she caught him up in a typical bone crushing hug. Harry had to force himself not to flinch as he felt every one of his still healing bruises. The Weasley matriarch let him go, and in a hushed whisper, pointed him up the stairs to his waiting best friends.

**XXX**

The blowout with Ron and Hermione certainly made him feel better, but it didn't do much to alleviate any of his anger over being left in the dark for over a month. He had had a lot of time to think over those weeks, and he had come to the realization that his last four years at Hogwarts, he had been something of a pushover. He was always content to let go of any issues he may have had, convinced as he was that Dumbledore knew what he was doing, and not wanting to cause any waves. But no more. As powerful as Albus Dumbledore was, he wasn't all knowing. And Harry was sick of people trying to control his life.

Dinner that night was a boisterous affair – as it always seemed to be when more than two Weasleys were involved. Tonks spent most of the evening entertaining the crowd with her metamorphic talents, while the younger generation watched, laughing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were caught up in a conversation with several older members of the order who had stuck around, unable to resist Mrs. Weasley's enticing offer of a meal. Not many could resist her cooking.

Sirius and Remus had one eye on Tonks, while the other focused on the child of two of their best friends. Both could see a difference from the last time they saw him and the boy who sat across from them that night, though neither could really pinpoint what it was. Suddenly, Harry turned his head, and both men caught a glimpse of dark purple around his neck.

Sirius stiffened, eyes narrowing as he focused in on what he could clearly tell were finger-shaped bruises. He could feel Remus' similar action beside him, though he couldn't force himself to tear his gaze away from his godson's neck. Those were definitely bruises. And judging from their placement… it looked like he had been strangled.

Harry glanced over at his godfather and ex-professor, feeling the eyes on him. Both looked startled, angry, and shocked. The boy wizard looked away quickly, as his hand subconsciously moved to pull his shirt up, to make sure the bruises were hidden. He didn't like the looks his father's best friends were giving him.

As the meal drew to a close, and Mrs. Weasley began to order the children up to bed, under the guise of a suggestion, Sirius interrupted, leaning forward as he drew Harry's attention to him.

"I'm surprised, Harry. I thought the first thing you would do would be to ask what was going on with Voldemort."

Most of the table flinched at the name, as Fred and George began to protest them sharing information with Harry, while they were left in the dark. Mrs. Weasley immediately drowned them out with protests about how they were all just children, but Sirius raised a hand, effectively halting all conversation.

"Well?" he asked his godson, who had yet to say a word.

Harry simply gazed at Sirius, his eyes bright and expression calm. When he spoke, he had an air of thinking about every word before he delivered it, something that was noted as a startling change by everyone in the room who had known Harry before that evening. "You mean you're actually going to tell me something?" he asked evenly. Sirius and Remus blinked, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins stared, and Mrs. Weasley's jaw made an audible sound as it snapped shut.

But Harry wasn't quite finished. Oh yes, he was through being a pushover. It was time for him to show his newly developed backbone. "I would have thought you would do your best to keep everything from me. After all, I'm just a _child_, right?" His eyes flicked over to Molly, who seemed to be overcoming her shock enough to nod vigorously, before focusing back on Sirius. "Never mind the fact that I haven't been a child since my parents were murdered," here, most of the room flinched, "or that I've already faced Voldemort –" more flinches, "more times than anyone else in this room, and _survived_. Never mind the fact that it's _my_ life you're all trying to control."

The room descended into silence, as all the adults were completely unsure how to answer that statement. If Harry had looked over at his friends, he would have seen the unsure looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, and the pride that shone clearly from Fred, George, and Ginny. Sirius and Remus' expressions most closely resembled those three Weasleys. They had tried to get Dumbledore to see that very fact, but the old man just refused to listen.

"You're right, Harry –" Sirius started to say, but was cut off quickly by Mrs. Weasley.

"Stop it, Sirius," she scolded, "Harry dear, I understand your frustration, but you're too young –"

And here, the Weasley matriarch was cut off herself, as Harry stood up from the table. His eyes glowed with intensity, and Molly unconsciously shifted back in her seat slightly. The boy positively radiated power. His next words were said in almost a whisper, and yet they were picked up by everyone in the room.

"If Voldemort deems me old enough to die, I think I'm old enough to know why."

More silence, as the shocked looks changed to horror.

"Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitantly, almost fearfully, but with a hint of reproach that showed her distaste of the disrespect of authority he was showing.

Harry just shook his head. "I've asked," he said curtly, gaze straying over towards his friend. He had thought a lot about it over the last few weeks, and he thought he knew why Dumbledore insisted on keeping it from him. But there was one major flaw in the old man's plan: you couldn't protect something you never had. Dumbledore's idea to preserve Harry's childhood would never work, because Harry had never been a child. It was more important for him to be informed, so that he could adequately prepare, than for Dumbledore to allow the illusion of youth.

"I've asked, and no one has ever seen fit to share anything with me. Lack of information does nothing except get people killed." Gasps were heard throughout the kitchen yet again at his crass way of speaking and harsh words, but he didn't care. Harry was a realist, and he was through sugarcoating things. "We are at war, whether or not the majority of the Wizarding World realizes it. Eventually, Voldemort is going to come after me again, and quite frankly, every time he attempts it, my odds go down. If I don't know how to fight him, one of these times, my 'sheer dumb luck', as Professor McGonagall once put it, is going to run out."

"Harry, you shouldn't be worrying about that, it's our job to protect you –"

Mrs. Weasley attempted to placate the young man, but apparently she had said the wrong thing. Harry's eyes were gleaming with power and passion as he turned his gaze on her. "It's not your job to protect me, Mrs. Weasley. You won't always be there, and if you think I'm going to let anyone else throw themselves in front of a killing curse for me, then you must be seriously deluded." There were a few winces, mostly from the last two Marauders, who both vowed to have a serious discussion with Harry at some point – that shouldn't be how he remembered his mother's sacrifice.

Several people seemed to take offense to the veiled insult, but Harry didn't give them time to speak up. He plowed on, letting every negative feeling come out as he tried to get these people to _understand_. "All you're doing is crippling us. Twenty years ago, this was your war. You fought, hard, and there were heavy casualties, to both sides. You needed a one-year-old to save you, and then you had thirteen years of relative peace." His eyes flicked between the older generation, seeming to ignore the younger crowd, though he was in no way unaware of the almost awe-filled looks they were giving him. Where had this Harry come from?

"You had a chance to cure the disease. You had thirteen years to fix things. Voldemort never could have gained so much power if there hadn't already been a crowd willing to follow him. When he was gone, you had the opportunity weed out the infection, make the world a better place. You didn't. And now he's back. But it's not just your war anymore." Here, he indicated his friends, still not taking his gaze off of Mrs. Weasley, where it had settled by that point. "It's ours as well. It's _our_ future Voldemort is trying to kill. And I, for one, will not just stand by and let him take it."

As Harry finished, he turned around and exited the kitchen, very aware of the multitude of gazes locked on his retreating back.

After several minutes of silence, Mrs. Weasley took control again, and forcefully ordered the remaining children up to bed. Once they were gone, she collapsed back at the table, as the conversation started up.

Sirius and Remus were hard pressed to keep their pride in Harry from being too obvious, but it was very clear that they agreed with him.

Tonks also seemed to be on the soon-to-be fifth year's side, as were Kingsley and Bill, though neither man said much; a few subtle nods and slight smiles proved their position. Arthur and Molly didn't say much as the others talked about the pros and cons of sharing information, and what Dumbledore might say: Arthur didn't want to say something that might alienate his wife, though if pressed to admit it, he truly did agree with the boy. Molly, on the other hand, was trying to process the evening. She felt she was doing the right thing by shielding her children – and she definitely considered Harry one of her children – but she couldn't just set aside everything Harry had said. His words were not those of a child. What she had just seen was every bit a man as Bill and Charlie, maybe even more so. She couldn't deny that he knew what he was talking about; he knew what he wanted, and she had a nagging suspicion that one way or another, he was going to get it.

At a lull in the conversation, she pulled herself up and looked at Sirius. He was, after all, the boy's godfather, and as much as she thought him a reckless man who had no business taking care of anyone, he would probably be the one to ask about the validity of Harry's resolve to know everything. "Do you really think not knowing would be as dangerous as he thinks?" she fretted.

Sirius met her worried gaze with his calm one. "Yes," he replied succinctly.

Beside him, Remus nodded his agreement. "Molly, you know what's happened his last four years. What do you think could have been changed if they had been given more information?"

All eyes were fixed on him, now, most showing open curiosity. Remus saw confusion in Molly's gaze, so he continued. "First year, those three figured out the secret of the Philosopher's stone all on their own; they went to an authority figure for help, and were written off as too young to know what they were talking about, and what happened? They went after Quirrel themselves. Harry almost died. Second year, no one was telling them anything, and I'm sure they could all see how worried the professors were. In the end, it was Harry and Ron who saved the day." Molly and Arthur flinched at the reminder of what their daughter had gone through that year. "His third year," Remus continued, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of his eye, "do you know how Harry found out that Voldemort's supposed 'right hand man' was after him?" Several people shook their heads, and Sirius was the one to flinch this time. "An overheard conversation. No one saw fit to tell him that he had a mass-murderer after him. Let alone that the killer was his own Godfather. I don't doubt that it didn't do much to endear him to authority figures. No matter what else was going on, Harry deserved to be told the whole story; he deserved to know how his parents really died. And last year. All Harry heard all year was not to worry about who was trying to kill him, the adults were working on it. The problem with that is that Harry doesn't trust adults, and quite frankly, I don't blame him. They all threw him to the wolves and basically offered him up as bait to figure out who was trying to kill him and what their plan was. Like it or not, Harry is not a child anymore, and you can't protect him from everything."

With that, the werewolf stood up and left the kitchen. Sirius watched his friend leave, before following a few seconds later.

That seemed to be a cue, as the kitchen emptied out quickly after that; nothing had really been resolved, but the evening had definitely given them food for thought.

**XXX**

Harry looked up as the door opened, and sighed internally as he watched his father's two best friends enter the room. Neither one made any move to sit down, instead focusing on the young man who looked so much like Prongs. But he had the best of both of his parents inside, and if either one had to vocalize it, what they had seen down in the kitchen was all Lily.

Harry turned his gaze back to the book in his lap for another minute; once he finished the page, he carefully marked his place and set the book aside before he sat up slightly. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked, only slightly joking.

Remus shook his head, a small smile gracing his worn out face. "Not at all," he assured Harry, "We just wanted to talk to you."

Sirius glanced at his friend briefly, but it was enough for Harry to tell that whatever this conversation was going to entail was the werewolf's idea, not his.

Harry nodded slowly, expression guarded, and carefully blank. Werewolf and dog animagus sat down, both focused on the young man in front of them. Both were aware of the bruises that were once more visible on the boy's neck, and Sirius suddenly realized what it was his friend wanted to talk about. He almost winced, but knew that the issue needed to be brought up, so that it could be resolved.

Remus sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly as he took in the cautious look his pseudo nephew was wearing. No one spoke for several minutes, Sirius and Remus observing Harry, and Harry observing right back. He thought he might know what they wanted, and he really didn't see the point. He was sure they had caught a glimpse of the bruises on his neck during dinner, and was hoping for a way to avoid this confrontation. It wasn't like anything would come of it. _Dumbledore_ wouldn't let them do anything. He would go back to the Dursley's next summer, and the summer after that. It was just a couple more years, and then he'd be free.

Finally, Remus leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee. "Harry, what happened to your neck?"

Even though he knew it was coming, Harry froze at the question. His eyes darted between the two men and the door, as if debating the merits of making a break for it.

Both men saw the look, and wondered if they would have to stop him from running – or if they even would, if it came to that.

Fortunately, Harry appeared to decide it wasn't worth it, for the next moment, he slumped, the fight apparently going out of him. "It doesn't matter," he replied, defeated.

Sirius and Remus bristled at the implication that Harry really didn't care what happened to him.

The ex-professor, the calmer of the two, was the one to ask the question, as Sirius appeared to be struggling with himself not to lose control. "Why not?"

Harry shrugged. "Because I'm going to have to go back anyway," he said, gaze falling to the floor, and subsequently missing the angry looks Sirius and Remus exchanged.

"Your uncle?" Remus asked, forcing his voice to remain neutral.

Harry hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, just once.

Both Marauders winced and swallowed at the confirmation.

Harry shifted under their gazes, and grimaced slightly as he felt his ribs twinge. He had thought they were just bruised, but that sharp stabbing couldn't be a good thing. He moved again, trying to alleviate the pain, and had to stifle a gasp, gritting his teeth together and keeping his expression blank. At least one rib was cracked.

Remus tried to stamp down the haze of red that was threatening to overtake his vision. It was less than a week until the full moon, and the wolf was more alive within him than ever. So caught up with controlling his urge to go murder the Dursley's with his bare hands, that he missed the subtle signs of pain the young man in front of him was displaying.

Sirius, though no less upset, did not have to battle a dark creature within him, and was thus much more aware of his surroundings. He also knew how abused children reacted; he should, considering his own horror-filled past.

Thus, when he saw the suppressed wince and grimace, he leaned forward slightly. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked quietly.

Harry looked up, meeting his Godfather's gaze, noting somewhere in the back of his mind just how much the blue-gray color reminded him of the sea during a storm. He thought he could even see the storm in Sirius' eyes at the moment. But what truly warmed his heart was that there was no pity. Only understanding. It was that that caused Harry to pause before spouting off the typical 'I'm fine' lie that he had used so often he had actually almost started to believe it.

He exhaled the breath he had been holding for several seconds, before he looked down slightly, focusing on the ground in front of Sirius' feet. Biting his lip, he slowly shook his head.

Sirius didn't even have time to feel elated that his godson was being honest with him – that he _trusted_ him enough to tell the truth – because Harry kept speaking. "It hurts a little," he admitted, almost whispering as if ashamed of having to confess to being in pain. He suddenly looked up, meeting Sirius' steady gaze once more. "But it's not that bad, really. There's no need to freak out."

Sirius took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out when he was sure he wouldn't explode. The last thing Harry needed right now was people yelling around him. When he was sure that wouldn't happen, he stood up slowly, and then, under Harry's watchful eyes, made his way over to the couch, to sit next to his godson. A section of his mind seemed to register the fact that Remus was coming out of his wolf-induced silence; it seemed that, for now, the man had won. Sirius wasn't sure whether or not he should feel happy about that. Although, he was all for taking Mooney to Privet Drive next week and then blocking off all the exits.

Sirius sat down and turned slightly so that he could face Harry head-on. "I'm not going to freak out, Harry," he promised. "But the fact that you don't think it's a big deal worries me. He's hurting you, and you need to realize how wrong that is."

"I do!" Harry broke in, staring beseechingly at his godfather. "I know it's not right, and I know not to believe all that stuff he says. I just don't think this is something to get worked up over." Harry made a vague gesture to his stomach, lifting his hand up slightly so that it included his bruised neck as well.

Remus leaned forward. "Why not?" he asked, keeping his voice light and curious. It would not do to lose control. Especially not now.

Harry shrugged, an action that initiated yet another wince. "It's just a few bruises and a cracked rib," he replied, staring at the floor. "It's not like he broke anything."

The unspoken '_this time_' was heard clearly by both Mauraders, and the truths that the silent statement held were harsh and cruel, and forced both men to pause.

It was several minutes later when Remus forced himself to ask the question he had been wondering since entering the room. "Harry, why didn't you ever _say_ anything?"

Apparently, the werewolf should have kept his snout shut. Harry's eyes blazed as he stared at one of the last links to his father. "Say something?" he asked incredulously. "I didn't think I needed to. Or do you think the bars on my window that Fred, George, and Ron had to break off in order to rescue me summer before second year were a symbol of how much the Dursley's loved me? Or how about the four locks the twins had to pick in order to get out of my room and get my trunk? What were they supposed to be, a gesture of affection? Hell, my acceptance letter to Hogwarts was addressed to the 'Cupboard Under the Stairs'. If that wasn't enough of a clue that something wasn't right, what is? The fact that I practically begged Dumbledore not to make me go back every year? Hagrid having to chase us to some hut on a rock in the middle of the sea in order to deliver my acceptance letter, after the first five hundred or so failed? Mrs. Weasley's always complaining about how I'm too skinny. Did it really never cross anyone's mind that there might be a reason for that?"

With each statement and question, Sirius and Remus felt as if shards of ice had pierced their hearts, and just kept getting driven deeper and deeper. The only thing they could think about was how much they had failed. Though, when they were alone later that night, they would welcome the thought that Albus Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.

And apparently, Harry wasn't finished yet. It was his last statement that truly drove the misery and guilt home. The boy wizard stood up and turned slightly, facing Sirius head on as he spoke in a quiet and expressionless tone. "Sirius, I'd known you for less than an hour when you offered me a home, and yet I jumped at the chance to live with you. Didn't you ever ask yourself _why_?"

And with that final blow, he exited the room, leaving the two men sitting there, wallowing in their grief.

After at least five minutes of silence, Sirius stood up, pulling Remus out of his thoughts. The werewolf watched as the escaped convict walked over to the wall, stopping just to the left of the fireplace. He rested his hands on the wall, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to stop the myriad of images that were assaulting his mind.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, curiously blank for a moment, before his face contracted in fury and he punched the wall. Letting out a short breath that almost betrayed how close he was to losing control, he turned around and slid down the wall, collapsing onto the threadbare carpet, knees pulled up to his chest as he lost himself to the tears, just this once.

Remus watched his best friend lose control, heart breaking even more as he was unable to do or say anything that might help. It was all he could do himself not to start crying, or ripping the furniture to shreds.

When Sirius slid to the floor, Remus finally managed to unfreeze himself enough to go over to him. He sat down next to the animagus, close enough to comfort, but not too close as to be stifling.

The two men stayed there in silence for several more minutes, both contemplating on the young man they thought of as family, before their reflection was interrupted by the three eldest Weasleys.

Molly, Arthur, and Bill had been up late talking about Harry, and the change they had all noticed. It was Bill who suggested they include Sirius and Remus in their discussion: as childish as his mother may think the escaped felon, Bill truly respected the man, and had no doubts that his first and foremost priority would always be his Godson's safety and happiness. He agreed that keeping the children in the dark would not help anything, and could very well be detrimental to the war effort. He knew what his youngest brother and his brother's friends had accomplished over the last few years. And quite frankly, if it had been up to him, he would have brought Harry in long ago. That boy had proved himself time and again, ever since he was eleven years old. That he had saved the life of his younger and only sister meant that Bill would forever be in the boy hero's debt.

All three redheads were brought up short by the sight of the two men sitting on the floor, tear tracks on their cheeks, eyes haunted.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked bluntly, voicing the question that his parents were too polite to.

The Mauraders looked up, startled at the intrusion. Both simultaneously looked away, wiping away the tears before standing up and making for the couch. Both looked up at the newcomers with exhaustion written clearly on their faces.

"Is everyone else in bed?" Remus asked, voice hoarse, ignoring the question posed to him as he focused on the cursebreaker.

Bill nodded, once, furrowing his brow as he took in the pair. Beside him, his parents were less inconspicuous; their confusion showed clearly in their expressions.

Remus sighed and returned the nod in thanks, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face, feeling much older than his thirty-six years.

After several moments of awkward silence, the three Weasleys sat down as well, attention still focused on the two friends.

Finally, Sirius spoke. "What happened three years ago?"

All three redheads looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" Arthur asked, tilting his head to the side.

Sirius looked at him, and the father of seven was taken aback by the emptiness in the younger man's gaze. He had always been slightly unnerved by the escaped felon's eyes – there were times when he actually looked like he had been Kissed by a Dementor, they seemed so empty – but this was different. There was pain, and suffering, and underneath it all, a current of anger that had the older man reeling.

It was the werewolf that spoke up, answering the query since his friend seemed unable to do so. "Summer before his second year, Harry showed up at your house. Did your sons really have to break the bars off his window in order to get him out?"

Molly blinked. They had mentioned something like that at the time, but she had written it off as them trying to get out of trouble. "Did Harry say something?" she asked, glancing towards the door briefly, as if she would be able to make sure the boy was in his bed safe and sound through the walls and floors that separated them.

Remus sighed and rubbed a hand wearily over his face again. He had a feeling that Harry wouldn't want anything they had just talked about known to anyone else, but he had mentioned the Weasleys. They had to have seen something, and if they were to reason with Dumbledore at all, they needed as many people as possible on their side. Bringing his hand down, he spared a glance for his best friend, who still looked haunted by the truths his godson had revealed. It reminded Remus eerily of the night they had confronted him about his own home life. After the yelling and throwing things ended, Sirius had just sat down on the floor, exhausted, and stared through them. Even when looking them in the eye, it hadn't seemed like he was _looking_ at them. His eyes were empty, haunted, much like they were right now. Remus suspected Sirius was remembering that night as well. He was probably thinking about the things his parents had done to him, and wondering how Harry's experiences compared. The werewolf had to suppress a shudder. "Did you notice anything… strange… about Harry at dinner? I mean, _before_ his whole speech," he clarified, before Molly could say anything.

While the Weasley matriarch and patriarch shook their heads, Bill stopped to consider the question. Clearly, the two men were searching for something specific. And Bill was a cursebreaker. He had to be good at noticing small details, or he'd have died a long time ago. Going back over his memories of dinner, he narrowed his eyes in concentration, as his mind's eye brought up an image of the boy hero they were discussing. After a few moments, his eyes widened slightly as he focused on the last two Mauraders. "The bruises," he stated evenly, observing the wince those two words drew from them.

Arthur looked over at his eldest son. "What bruises?" he asked sharply. His tone was so unlike what they were all used to hearing from the easygoing man.

Bill hurried to answer, knowing that when his father used that tone, he wasn't in the mood for playing around. "Harry had several bruises on his neck. He was trying to hide it, but whenever he turned his head, his shirt collar shifted and they were visible." The cursebreaker paused here, considering how to phrase what he was about to say, knowing that there was no easy way to break it to his parents; he knew how much they loved Harry. He was like their seventh son. Glancing from his mother to his father, he swallowed harshly. "They looked to be several days old, and shaped like fingers… If I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like…"

"Like someone tried to strangle him," Sirius finished, voice hollow, eyes glazed over.

Molly and Arthur turned quickly to the escaped criminal. Surely not! And yet… there had been a reason the two men had asked about the bars, and their sons' rescue of Harry.

"Did he say who?" Arthur asked quietly, almost dreading the answer. His hand unconsciously sought his wife's, and she gripped back just as tightly, needing the comfort as much as he did.

Remus nodded absentmindedly. "His uncle," he confirmed, voice just as soft.

The reaction was instantaneous. Arthur and Bill stiffened, while Molly slumped further down, unable to hold the tears back any more.

Seeing his parents close to losing it, Bill took the next question, knowing it needed to be asked, but dreading the answer. "Did he mention any other injuries, or how long it had been going on?"

Sirius clenched his hand into a fist, jaw tightening as he nodded, glaring at the floor, his eyes showing more life in his anger. "He's got more bruises than the ones on his neck, though he didn't say where. And…" here, he trailed off, swallowing harshly as the anger sharpened to fury. "And a cracked rib."

Remus could see just how close his friend was to losing it, and for all their sakes, he knew he had to try and stop the impending explosion. "Sirius, calm down," he pleaded, knowing it wasn't likely to do anything.

And he was right. The next moment, Sirius was on his feet, facing his friend as he yelled. "He said that he wasn't all right, but that it was OK, because nothing was broken!" Sirius practically shouted. He ignored the gasps from the Weasleys. "What kind of life has he had, that he can be all right with being hit, as long as nothing breaks? And furthermore, what kind of fifteen year old automatically knows the difference between bruised, cracked, and broken ribs? What kind of fifteen year old can brush it off like it's nothing?"

Remus waited until Sirius stopped, watching the other man breathe heavily for a moment, before he stood up as well. He said nothing, just hesitantly reached out to grasp his friend's shoulder. When the animagus did nothing to throw him off, he gently drew him into a hug, holding on tightly. After a momentary stiffening, he felt Sirius relax into his embrace, his own arms circling around the werewolf's waist as he returned the hug; his face burrowed into Remus' shoulder, and the graying man felt more than heard the tears falling from the convict's eyes. He muttered vague condolences, something about making it better, being there for Harry, and not letting him go back, though if asked later, he wouldn't have been able to repeat what he had said. He wasn't paying attention to the words, just trying to be there for one of the best friends he had ever had. He had abandoned the man for twelve years, and now that they were together again, he wouldn't lose him again.

The Weasleys watched in silence, not one of them able to keep their heart from breaking at the sight. No matter what their personal opinions of the men might be, what was clear was that both of them hurt for Harry, and wanted to help him. And all three Weasleys could relate to that.

And silently, they all made a vow to themselves that Harry Potter would never spend another minute under the roof of Number Four, Privet Drive.

_I'm in total denial about Sirius' death, so this was my little change of events; Harry convinces the adults that he needs to be better informed, which results in learning the prophecy earlier, which means no trip to the DoM, which means Sirius never dies. _

_This was just planned as a one shot, and I'm not really convinced it ends when it does, so if I get enough of a response, I'll probably put up a second chapter. I think I have an idea of where I wanted to lead it, so I could probably add another chapter, to resolve a few things. It most likely won't turn into a full length story – I could be convinced to turn it into a two shot, but no more than that. I just don't think I have enough steam on this fic to keep it going for multiple chapters._

_Please review and let me know what you think! This is my first Harry Potter fic, so I'm hoping I did the wonderfully fabulous universe some justice._


	2. Chapter 2

**Back by popular demand! I still don't know if this'll turn into a long story, but you know, never say never. It might not happen for a while, since I really have too many stories going at once, and I really want to start finishing them.**

**I do apologize for this delay; as you can see, it's a rather long chapter, and I had to keep taking breaks, to deal with this pesky old wrist injury – six years, and it hasn't stopped hurting =[ It makes it rather painful to write for long amounts of time. Word of advice: if you ever get a chance to ride on a donkey… don't.**

**I did get a lot of great reviews for the first chapter, so thank you! I also got a couple that were a little so-so, one in particular that I can't as easily shake off – and since it was signed 'guest', I can't exactly respond to that one reviewer personally. So I just have to say, no, Harry does not **_**let**_** himself get beaten by his uncle. When you grow up with it, it's ingrained to not fight back. He's not a submissive, he's an abused child, and I don't think there's anything to "lol" about. I'm sorry to the rest of you for having to listen to that, I just don't think abuse is anything to laugh about.**

**And as was pointed out to me in a review, the summary doesn't really match the story, so I've changed it. It truly started out as a Harry takes charge type of fic, but then morphed into this, with no planning from me. It just happened. I'm sorry if anyone was disappointed, but I really don't plan my stories, I just write as it comes, and this particular story was well and truly hijacked by those pesky little muses.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything**

Sirius yawned and stretched as he woke up. Glancing around his room at the Muggle posters and Gryffindor hangings, he spared a moment to smile wistfully, before the events of the previous night came crashing back, and the smile turned to a wince.

It had taken quite a while for him to calm down last night, and nothing more had been said on the subject, before the five of them had dispersed to their separate rooms. He doubted any of them had gotten much more sleep than he had, in between the tossing and turning, and the nightmares.

Pulling himself out of bed, Sirius made his way downstairs, pausing on the floor that currently was housing most of his guests, including the younger Weasleys, Hermione, Harry, and Remus.

He caught sight of the werewolf hovering in the hallway, outside the door he recognized as hiding the bedroom of Ron and Harry. Making a swift decision, he moved over to join his oldest friend. Though he knew the other man was aware of his no longer being alone, Remus didn't acknowledge the company. He just continued to stare at the closed door, eyes closed off, his expression unreadable.

It was several minutes of silence before Sirius managed to pull himself together enough to open the door quietly. The sight that met him caused him to smile briefly, as he took in the two teenaged boys; Ron was tangled in the sheets on his bed, mouth open slightly as he snored. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be curled up with his back to the room. He didn't appear to be resting peacefully, as both men could see subtle lines of stress and pain in his tight expression. The corner of his eye twitched slightly, and as he turned his head down to burrow into his pillow, both Mauraders once more caught sight of the offending bruises.

Harry shifted a little more, unintentionally causing his shirt to ride up somewhat, revealing what the boy wizard had refused to admit to or show the night before. Remus felt his nails dig into his palms as he saw more bruising, ranging in color from purple to green and yellow. His enhanced eyesight also caught the multitude of old scars, mostly faded to nonexistent, but not for the werewolf.

Turning on his heel quickly, before he lost himself completely to the animal, he promptly grasped Sirius' arm and dragged him out of the room. Luckily, Sirius didn't ask what he was doing, and allowed himself to be dragged back to the same sitting room they had ended up in the previous night. He watched in silence as Remus walked over to the fireplace, pulled out his wand, and with a snarled word, a fire was quickly burning.

Grabbing some floo powder, he managed to growl "Hogwarts infirmary!" past his clenched teeth, while thrusting his head into the flames.

Sirius used the time to attempt to get his own breathing under control. He was no less aware of the multitude of bruising than the werewolf, and he was working hard to keep himself from going to pay the Dursley's a visit; he knew that there was nothing to be gained from losing his head again. Even if it would make him feel better.

Approximately two minutes later, Remus withdrew his head from the fire, followed a moment later by Poppy Pomfrey, who dusted herself off briskly, and said nothing beyond a simple "Where is he?" Her eyes, when she looked between the two men, showed nothing but sheer determination, and her entire stance was resolute as she clutched her healer's bag closer, following two of her most frequent former patients out of the room, towards the boy who was her _current_ most frequent patient.

Given her lack of questions, Sirius could draw several conclusions. He knew Remus had to have given her a basic rundown of why they needed her presence, and her demeanor was suggesting that she wasn't altogether surprised. He wondered if she had noticed anything before now, and he wondered if she had told the Headmaster her suspicions. His list of issues to bring up with the old man expanded.

Remus held up a hand to halt Poppy, as he went into the room alone, smiling as he saw that Ron had not changed his position at all in the last few minutes. Gently, he shook the redhead awake.

"Wuzgoinon?" Ron mumbled blearily, blinking slowly until the blur in front of him sharpened into his former defense professor.

Remus smiled again, and stepped back. "Ron, would you mind getting dressed and spending the rest of the morning somewhere else?" he asked quietly.

While Ron had spent the last four years being hounded by Hermione for putting off his work until the last minute, and not giving his best effort in school, he was by no means an idiot. A glance from the ex-professor to his best friend confirmed the reason behind the desire for his absence. Harry never talked about it, but Ron had eyes, and ears. He knew he wasn't being told everything, and he could draw some conclusions on his own. It wasn't that easy to hide bruises when you were sharing a room. And he had, after all, been there to break the bars off of Harry's window summer before second year. He had gotten a glimpse of his friend's uncle then, and he hadn't missed the look of terror that had briefly graced Harry's face. It was gone before he could get a better look, but he knew what he had seen.

Saying nothing more, Ron simply grabbed a change of clothes, and headed towards the door. Opening it, he saw Sirius and the Hogwarts mediwitch waiting in the hall, and felt a grim understanding come over him. If he had had any doubts as to what would be going on, they were gone now; turning back to the werewolf, he calmly and determinedly said, "Take care of him."

Remus was struck by the adult he saw in the youngest male Weasley at that moment. Harry had shocked him last night with how grown up he had become, and here was more proof that these children really were not children any more. The determination and hardness he could see in Ron's gaze showed him a glimpse of the man the boy would become, was already becoming.

He had no response, so he simply nodded a promise to do just that, and watched in silence as the boy – no, _man_ – turned around again, and with hardly another glance to the two waiting confusedly in the hall, disappeared, most likely to the bathroom to change.

Shaking off his thoughts, the werewolf turned back to the remaining occupant. Sirius and Poppy entered the room, closing the door behind them.

Remus sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, and gently shook his shoulder. Even in sleep, the young wizard flinched, causing Remus' heart to break just a little bit more. He wasn't sure whether the response was because the gesture hurt Harry, or if it was an ingrained reaction born from years of abuse and equating any touch with pain.

Softly, he called out, "Harry."

Calling his named seemed to do the trick, for Harry quickly opened his eyes, turning his head and squinting slightly, trying to make out the identity of the figure so close to him. After the customary split second of panic, he recognized Remus, and let out the breath he had been holding.

Groaning slightly, Harry sat up and put on his glasses, noticing the two other occupants to the room as he did so. He had to hold in another groan as he took in the mediwitch. A glare at Sirius, however, showed his displeasure.

The man in question simply held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It wasn't me, kiddo," he denied, shooting a look at Remus.

Harry understood the unspoken signal, and transferred his annoyance to the werewolf.

Remus, however, refused to back down. He simply stood up, and, not taking his eyes off his honorary nephew, said, "Let Madam Pomfrey take a look at you, Harry, please."

Harry didn't say anything for a long minute, simply staring at the werewolf; Remus wasn't willing to admit just how much that stare chilled him.

Finally, Harry looked down. "I'm fine," he argued, though his voice lacked any real conviction.

That seemed to be Poppy's cue to step forward. She set her bag down, and focused her attention on her patient. "I highly doubt that, Mr. Potter. Now stop dawdling, and take off your shirt."

Harry gazed at her, mouth slightly open. Realizing a moment later what he was doing, he closed his mouth and swallowed, before attempting a protest that died off before it even began, as the mediwitch proved once again why she was in control of the Hogwarts infirmary.

"I said take off that shirt, Mr. Potter, no excuses," she repeated, brandishing her wand threateningly.

Not able to come up with any plausible reason to delay, Harry simply sagged in defeat, throwing a betrayed look towards Remus and Sirius, before he complied with the matron's demands. He bit his lip to keep from gasping in pain as he slowly removed the article of clothing in question.

It was all Poppy could do to keep her professional exterior as the soon to be fifth year tossed the shirt beside him, and she caught a glimpse of the tapestry of bruises. It was colorful, and had a range in age from a couple of days, to several weeks old. Even worse, if that were possible, was the fact that she could count his ribs, and his collarbone jutted out sharply, clear signs of malnutrition.

Her eyes, trained over the years to spot even the smallest of injuries, caught the white lines of old scars that littered his left shoulder. Clearly, there was a story there, and she doubted she'd like it.

Harry looked down again, embarrassed by the scrutiny he was under, waiting for someone to say something, waiting for someone to show him the pity.

But all that happened, was Madam Pomfrey taking charge, muttering several diagnostic spells even as she gestured for Remus to get a pain-relieving potion for her patient.

Harry briefly thought about protesting to the potion, but one look at the mediwitch in front of him, and he decided it would be more prudent to hold his tongue. She was in full healer mode, and he had no wish to face her wrath for daring to disobey her. And truthfully, he could use the potion. Not that he hadn't had worse, but he couldn't seem to get rid of the stabbing feeling in his chest, and it was causing him to feel slightly lightheaded.

Several minutes of tense silence permeated the room, as the mediwitch worked to heal the injuries in front of her that she could, and plan for what would need long-term treatment, forcing herself not to show any of the turmoil inside of her. None of the professors liked to play favorites – well, apart from Severus – but she couldn't deny that his parents were two of hers. Lily, such a bright child, so eager to learn about the world she had found herself in. And James, so brilliant, coasting through his classes without even trying, hiding his caring and thoughtful side for years on end, but she could see it, in every interaction he had with his friends. He projected a rich boy, 'I know exactly how good looking I am, and I know how to use it for my own benefit' attitude, but every visit he made to Remus in the hospital wing after a full moon, she could see how much he cared. And she saw that same level of passion in his son. Despite how often he frequented her domain, she couldn't help but see the best of his parents in him, and be proud of him for that. She looked forward to seeing what he would accomplish.

Finally, the bruises were fading slightly, the cracked rib healed, and a few minor cuts on his back mended. However, there was evidence of older injuries that wouldn't be so easy to fix: broken bones that had healed improperly, a few scars that she thought she might be able to vanish. Sighing, Poppy pocketed her wand, taking in her favorite student, and the unsure expression on his face. Shaking her head slightly, she dug around in her bag and pulled out another potion, handing it to the boy in front of her; he simply looked at it, and then back at her, questioning. "It's a nutrient potion," she explained patiently. "I'll make sure you have a supply for the next few weeks. I want you to take one dose every morning with breakfast, until I say otherwise." Seeing his mouth open slightly, she rushed on, "No protests, Harry. I'm not supposed to be able to count your ribs like this."

Harry shut his mouth, having no response to that, and acquiesced, downing the potion in one gulp, shuddering at the taste.

Madam Pomfrey smiled at his obvious distaste for the potion, and took the vial back when offered.

The smile dropped the next moment, as she watched the young man fidget slightly under the pressure of all their gazes. Her eyes were drawn once more to the multitude of old scars on his shoulder.

Harry noticed the attention on the old injury, and silently prayed she wouldn't ask.

Unfortunately, it seemed that no one was listening, for the mediwitch broke the oppressive silence by asking quietly, "What happened?" as she sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly touched the shoulder in question, devoting her full attention to the amazing man in front of her.

Harry winced at the query, looking at his lap as he bit his lip, unable to meet her worried gaze.

All three adults waited in silence for the young man to answer, hoping that by not pushing anything, he would feel safe enough to tell them the truth. The boy's immediate response was to grab his discarded shirt and put it back on, effectively hiding the old injury from view, as he tried to find a way around answering the question.

Eventually, Harry just shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was emotionless, almost cold, and very clinical. He refused to meet anyone's eyes. "Uncle Vernon was drunk. The bottle was empty, and I was in the way."

Poppy gasped, her hand moving up to cover her mouth, Sirius simply clenched his hands into fists tightly as his eyes darkened, and Remus growled, the wolf closer to the surface than ever.

After a few moments, in which she forced herself to swallow the bile that rose at the vision of a young Harry bleeding and crying in pain while a drunken whale stood threateningly over him, Poppy closed her eyes briefly, and asked, almost afraid of the answer, "Why didn't you ever come to me?"

Harry's eyes snapped up to her face. He studied her for a moment, apparently looking for something. He seemed to find it, because he shrugged again and replied, "He's good at knowing when to stop. Any injuries were pretty much healed by the time school started, so I didn't see the point."

"Didn't see –" Poppy started, but then cut herself off. She thought she could see what he was getting at. Several times, she had brought concerns to the headmaster, and several times, she had been written off. Harry was too skinny, too accepting of pain, for there to be no underlying issue. Dumbledore had heard her out, and with that infuriating twinkle, had told her that, yes, he knew it wasn't ideal, but it was the best possible solution, and that he understood her concerns, and he would look into it. She had never heard anything else, but she hadn't thought the situation was getting any better. Most likely, because the headmaster hadn't done anything to rectify it.

Her eyes hardened as a steely resolve took over her. She didn't care what Albus thought anymore. He had failed this boy for the last time. Glancing at the two men standing behind her, she knew she would have help dealing with the headmaster. Neither man looked willing to let any of this go.

Harry yawned, trying to hide it, but of course, he should know by now that nothing got past the mediwitch. She smiled slightly, reaching out to grasp his hand tightly, trying to convey her support in that one small gesture. She thought he understood, because he returned the motion, squeezing her hand just as tightly. "Get some rest, Mr. Potter," she said in a no-nonsense tone, her smile widening as he moved to do just that, no protests or complaints.

Dimming the light on their way out, the three adults waited until they were back in the sitting room before they showed any sign of how close they were to losing control.

"I'm going to kill him," was the first thing out of Sirius' mouth, as he collapsed onto the couch and lost the battle to keep the tears from falling.

"Dumbledore, or that whale of an uncle?" Remus asked as he sat down next to his friend.

Sirius glanced over at the werewolf, before answering. "Both."

Remus was about to reply, when his response was cut off.

"Let me know when and where. I'll hold them down for you."

Both men looked over at Poppy, who had yet to sit down, and seemed to be quickly working her way into a fury. Both former patients of hers recognized the temper, and wisely decided to remain silent.

A moment later, they were treated to a full on rant. "I told him!" Poppy raged, quickly becoming oblivious to everything in the room with her, as she caught herself up in the memories, and in her anger. "I told him my concerns! I knew something was wrong! He said he'd take care of it! I doubt he did anything at all."

She was interrupted by a very animalistic growl coming from Remus. "You actually told him what was going on, and he did nothing?" Up until this point, the man had been willing to give Dumbledore the benefit of the doubt, because there was no real proof he had known anything. But if he had…

Poppy shook her head slightly, as she collapsed into the reclining chair that was set up facing the sofa. "That boy was always so skinny. It's hard to tell under those muggle clothes he wears, but I saw it when he was in the hospital wing. There was also the incident in his second year."

"Which one?" Sirius asked, half jokingly.

Poppy shot him a death glare, before answering. "He broke his arm during a Quidditch match, and kept going. It was like it didn't even affect him. And then, when that idiot fool Lockhart vanished the bones in his arm, I had to give him Skelegro. Not the best of potions, and would cause most people to scream, or at least cry out in pain from time to time. But Harry was silent. All night, I watched him. He seemed perfectly fine. The only reason for that would be…"

She trailed off, unable, or unwilling, to voice the opinion.

Sirius picked up the train of thought, his voice taking on a dead-like quality, as he too considered the implications. "If he were used to being in pain."

The three sat in silence for several minutes, considering what they had just uncovered.

The stillness was interrupted by the woosh of the fireplace; three heads snapped up to watch as Minerva McGonagall stepped out of the flames, brushed herself off, and then looked around the room.

"There you are, Poppy," she said briskly. "Your note was very vague. What was so important that drew you to headquarters this early in the morning?"

As the silence permeated again, Minerva seemed to notice the air of tension and sorrow that hung over the room's three occupants. It reminded her of a funeral. She furrowed her brow in confusion and concentration. "What's going on?"

All three adults looked at each other briefly, silently trying to come to a consensus on whether or not they should include the Transfiguration professor.

In the end, it was Poppy who decided. She remembered a night fourteen years ago, when the two of them had spent the evening at the Three Broomsticks, and under the influence of a few too many drinks, Minerva had told her about Albus leaving the young Potter heir on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle's house in the middle of the night. She had listened to her longtime friend's concerns about the type of people those muggles were. She knew that, if Minerva was told specifics, they would have someone else on their side for the confrontation with the headmaster.

The healer nodded to the only open seat in the room. "Why don't you take a seat, Minerva? We might be here for a while."

The Transfiguration mistress felt her trepidation grow as she took the suggestion. Watching these three… something was clearly wrong.

How right she was. She listened in growing horror, as Poppy – with some input from her two former students – informed her of the situation as it stood, with the boy she would never admit out loud to be her favorite student – she couldn't help but love him, and it really had nothing to do with his parents. It was all him, his courage, his bravery, his willingness to do the right thing, no matter what. Even though she wished he would work harder at school – although, given what she was hearing, it wouldn't be that far off the mark to assume he deliberately did poorly, to avoid any sort of punishment. She had overheard enough about his cousin to believe that he was probably never the most inclined towards his studies, so it wouldn't be a huge leap of logic to suppose that any marks Harry had that surpassed him would not be well received by his guardians.

When Poppy finished, she sat back and watched the emotions play out on her colleague's face. It cycled from pain, to guilt, to sadness, and finally, to anger. Finally, she let out a very feline sounding growl, as her eyes narrowed into slits. "That bastard," she hissed.

She received no response beyond a raised eyebrow from Remus, and a slight smirk from Sirius.

Minerva growled again, as she focused her gaze back on the mediwitch. "When you go to castrate that man, Poppy, please let me come along."

Sirius snorted, and then quailed slightly under the glare she leveled at him. "Something amuse you, Mr. Black?" she asked blandly, eyes flashing.

Sirius swallowed, and shook his head. "Not at all," he replied innocently.

Minerva held the glare for another moment, before she nodded. "Good." Turning to glance at Remus, she catalogued the anger and pain in his eyes, and the weariness that seemed to permeate every line on his face. Her glare softened to reflect that same tiredness and disillusionment. She could not believe her old friend could do something so foolish. He had assumed responsibility that, in all fairness, should never have been his in the first place, and then he had failed to follow through. It had been his duty to make sure that the young Harry was cared for, and yet, he had simply dropped him off on a doorstep in the middle of the night in November, and walked away. And she had let him. She had never asked after the boy; truth to be told, she was just as culpable as Dumbledore. The difference was, she could admit it. She knew she had been wrong. Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard, true, but he tended to believe that he was always right, and he couldn't admit that he was just as capable of making mistakes as the rest of them. He was always doing things for 'The Greater Good'. And the sad thing was, he truly believed he was helping people.

The silence was broken by the opening door. All four of them turned to the intrusion, intent on coming up with some excuse for their meeting; Sirius and Remus relaxed slightly as they nodded a greeting to the three eldest Weasleys. A significant glance at Poppy informed her that no cover up would be needed.

Indeed, Molly was focused only on the mediwitch as she closed the door. The group hardly noticed the eldest Weasley child putting up locking and silencing charms, and an alert to warn them if someone was trying to floo in.

"Ron said that you were here, Poppy. Is he all right?" she fretted, sounding very much like the mother she was.

Poppy smiled at that, though it was slightly more painful than it might have been, had circumstances been different. "He will be," she assured the newcomers. Her expression turned more serious as she continued, "He's sleeping for now, and I will need to return later to discuss further treatment, but I am confident that by the Christmas holidays, he will be as he should be for a typical fifteen year old, at least physically." She did not need to state the emotional ramifications of such long-term abuse.

"What will happen to him?" Arthur asked, looking around at the adults present. None of them needed any clarification.

Minerva's nostrils flared. "I will not let him go back there," she stated firmly, "No matter what Albus says. If necessary, I will become the boy's guardian, but he _will not_ return."

The fact that Minerva McGonagall was so willing to go against her longtime friend and leader of the light was not lost on any of them. All of the Weasleys nodded in agreement.

Molly and Arthur would have loved to take the boy into their home like the seventh son he was, but they were realistic enough to know that they could not afford it, and they would not accept a knut that they knew Harry would try to give them for his care. Their standing in the public eye, as well, was another point against them. While respected by most of his peers, Arthur Weasley was still the head of a poor family, blood traitors the lot of them. No, someone like Minerva McGonagall, respected professor, would make a much better guardian for the boy-who-lived.

It was an arrangement Sirius knew he could live with as well. Until his name was cleared, he would not be able to take on the role he should have had for the last almost fourteen years now. And with all the anti-werewolf laws and legislation, Remus would never be able to gain custody.

Minerva seemed slightly shocked at the words that had come out of her mouth. Sure, she was fond of the boy, but had she really just stated her intent to gain custody of him? She wouldn't admit to being slightly afraid of how that might go down with some of the people in this room.

Which was why her astonishment grew when she saw Molly and Arthur nod their agreement of her plan.

And then Sirius spoke, and she couldn't hide her surprise any more.

"I can't think of anyone better." He saw the dumbfounded looks, and elaborated, leaning forward slightly as he locked gazes with his former professor. "I know I'm not in the best position to care for him, and due to the idiocy of the Ministry, Remus would never get custody." He turned to the Weasleys now. "Molly, Arthur, I know how much you love him, and I know he loves your family as well. But if you were to take him in, he would be one of eight, and he wouldn't get a lot of individual attention. Even if it were only the twins, Ron, and Ginny at home with him, your attention would still be divided. He needs what Minerva can give him. A chance to shine, to not have to compete with others for the attention of his guardian. He's been neglected for so long, and he needs the confidence boost."

Such a level of insight from the escaped felon was almost unheard of. Remus couldn't hide the pride in his friend, and Minerva wasn't ashamed to admit that tears were threatening to fall from her eyes at her former student's level of trust. She vowed then and there that she would endeavor to earn it, both from him, and from the young man who would hopefully soon be her ward.

"Thank you, Sirius," she almost whispered, a rare smile on her face.

Sirius nodded. "Besides," he added with a light smirk, "I hardly think you'd ban me from seeing my own godson. And if he lived with you, I might even get to do that more often."

Minerva nodded, ignoring the playful tone, and responding seriously. "I think having you in his life would do him a world of good. You can bring his parents to life in a way no one else could. Not to mention those confidence issues you brought up; I think having someone who believes in him the way you do could only help."

Sirius dropped the smirk, his face growing solemn as he replied with a simple nod, acknowledging what she was saying, and vowing to do just that, because he knew she spoke the truth.

As the silence stretched and turned to an uncomfortable stillness that felt most like the calm before a storm, each person in the room reflected on their own role to play in the near future. They were well aware of Dumbledore's opposition, and due to his role as the leader of the light, he would be hard to work around. However, his recent troubles with the ministry may work in their favor, as he was no longer seen as a saint by all.

And of course, the ministry itself would be an obstacle. They needed to instigate a change of guardianship quickly and quietly, and preferably without Fudge or Voldemort being any the wiser. But seeing as how Minerva had been an educator for over three decades now, she knew just who to contact to make that happen. A discreet call to the DMLE's Amelia Bones, and Patricia Welding in the Office of Child Welfare to set up a meeting, and hopefully they could have it all worked out by the time school started again on the First.

Eventually, sounds from the world outside that particular room permeated the defenses Bill had set up; it appeared that the rest of the house had woken up and was moving from breakfast to their daily activities. Sirius and Remus both spared a moment to wonder how the others had fended for breakfast without the Weasley matron, before coming to the conclusion that she had probably already cooked it before coming to the sitting room with her husband and son.

After an approval from Minerva, Bill took down his wards and charms, allowing both Hogwarts employees to say their goodbyes and leave the oppressive house, both to continue on with their plans of turning Harry Potter from the meek, underfed boy that he was currently, into the healthy and confident young man he should be.

Sirius and Remus nodded a farewell to the Weasleys, as Arthur and Bill left for work, and Molly went to wrangle her children and Hermione into getting back to work, after their rather impromptu break from cleaning. She would leave Harry, as Poppy had mentioned that he was asleep, and she would not let anyone wake him up.

When it was the two Mauraders alone again, Remus finally let himself lose control; growling lowly, he stalked over to the same stretch of wall that Sirius had let his anger out on the night before, and copied his friend's motion. Of course, his punch actually left a hole in the wall, not that either of them cared.

Sirius watched his friend with grim eyes, a fierce determination taking over. It felt good to have allies in this, especially when they came in the form of Albus' 'right hand', the Hogwarts mediwitch, and three members of the family that was well known for supporting Dumbledore fully. It felt even better to know that they were all there, planning on opposing the leader of the light, because they cared for his godson. In the case of the Weasley matriarch and patriarch, he knew without a doubt that he could say they were doing this because they loved Harry. As for the others, he knew they cared for the young man greatly. They wanted him to be safe and happy, well, as much as possible, considering the current situation.

When Remus turned back to look at his oldest friend, a certain understanding came over the two of them. Neither needed to say anything, and silently, Sirius fixed the hole in the wall, before the two of them left the sitting room to get on with their day. Minerva had the next turn, and they would wait for her signal before making their next move. Both men trusted the transfiguration mistress implicitly, and waited for her call.

**XXX**

Minerva looked up as the bell over the door tinkled, and lifted a hand slightly in greeting as Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, and Patricia Welding, head of the Office of Child Welfare entered the small Muggle café, placed conveniently several blocks down from the Leaky Cauldron.

Both Witches nodded at their old professor, joining her quickly at her table in the back.

"Thank you both for coming," Minerva said serenely, though inside, she felt anything but, as she set down her cup of tea.

"Well, you did sound rather anxious when we spoke," Amelia replied, trying to get a read on the woman in front of her, "Though I must admit to some confusion as to why we are meeting in a Muggle café, rather than at the Leaky Cauldron."

Minerva allowed a small smile to show. Amelia Bones truly loved putting that Hufflepuff reputation as flaky and aloof to bed. She had never met a more down to earth or direct person. And it made her very happy that such a woman was the head of law enforcement, particularly in these uncertain times.

Taking another sip from the mostly empty cup, Minerva replied, "I felt that, considering the topic of discussion, and considering the recent political climate, a more clandestine meeting would be advantageous."

That got the attention of both witches.

"Considering just whom you asked to join you, Minerva, I think I can make some guesses as to what the problem is. Perhaps you can expand on my somewhat limited understanding?" Asked Patricia, leaning forward slightly.

Minerva nodded slightly. "Harry Potter," she replied simply and quietly.

That drew a gasp from both her companions. Amelia frowned slightly as she began to put her rather intelligent brain to use. A meeting between a professor, the head of the DMLE, and the head of the OCW could only spell out one thing: a student was being abused or mistreated at home, badly enough that law enforcement needed to get involved. That it was Harry Potter was really just icing on the cake.

What her old professor had said about the political climate was true: Fudge had taken great joy recently in personally tearing down Potter's reputation. If one were to believe _The Daily Prophet_, Potter was nothing more than an attention-seeking liar who delighted in his own fame and was trying to use it to destabilize the wizarding world and the Ministry. She didn't believe a word of it, mostly because while the _Prophet_ may be good with their words, they had not offered up a shred of proof to back their claims. No quotes from Potter, no substantiated sources. She wasn't sure what she believed, but she did not think Potter a liar. Her niece, Susan, was in the same year as the boy, and while they didn't have much interaction, she had commented on how her classmate was all around a quiet, well-mannered boy, who seemed to hate all the fame and attention given to him. She would reserve judgment until meeting the child and forming her own opinions.

"He lives with his muggle aunt and uncle, correct?" Amelia clarified, almost reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill to take notes, before remembering that they were in a muggle establishment, and such an act would certainly get them noticed, the very thing they were trying to avoid.

Minerva nodded, her eyes narrowing to slits as a sound that, were both women sitting across from her not more pragmatic, they would have called a hiss, escaped her tightened mouth. "Albus placed him there, the day after…" she trailed off, her voice saddening as she glossed over the day that would forever be remembered as a day of celebration to the wizarding world, that would never really think about the family that had been torn apart on that very day; for those who actually knew the Potters… there would be no celebration, only sadness. Shaking herself off, she continued, voice hardening as she explained what her colleague had done, all in the name of the greater good. "He left the child there, in the middle of the night and with nothing but a letter for explanation! I tried to change his mind, but he was quite determined. I wish now I had tried harder." Again, she had to stop, this time to blink back the tears. Amelia and Patricia understandingly waited for her to continue. "I had thought he was at least keeping watch on the boy; he had a squib placed in the neighborhood, and was apparently receiving some form of report, but either his spy was completely blind to what was going on, or she reported the abuse, and Albus ignored it."

Amelia furrowed her brow in thought at those possibilities. While she was not completely jaded towards the headmaster, she also did not believe in trusting blindly, as so many seemed to do towards the venerable old man. She believed that trust is earned, and she did not like the way Dumbledore seemed to play with people's lives. The more she was hearing right now, the less she liked.

"Why did his situation not come out earlier?" the DMLE head asked. "He has been at Hogwarts for four years, why now?"

Minerva almost winced. It would take a lot for the feelings of guilt over missing all the signs went away. "I can't give you anything that isn't a false platitude, I'm afraid, Amelia." She sighed. "The only defense I can offer is that we weren't looking for it. No one would have expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be abused." Her expression hardened. "We may not have been looking for it, but Poppy definitely saw it. She said today that she had shared her concerns with Albus, but the old man just blew her off!"

Amelia leaned forward, half in anticipation, half in worry. "What concerns did she have?"

Minerva hesitated slightly, gathering her thoughts. "Harry ended up in the hospital wing at the end of his first year, and Poppy said she had been concerned with how skinny he was, even after months of being taken care of by the Hogwarts House Elves. It's impossible to go hungry with them in control." All three women smiled briefly at the devoted workers. The Hogwarts employed elves truly were something else. "In his second year, as well, she noted his apparent lack of nutrition, but she had a few more things to add. His arm was broken during a Quidditch match, and she thought it strange that he seemed to bear no ill effects of the injury, nor did he seem very bothered by the pain of having to re-grow the bones using Skelegro after that idiot Lockhart vanished them in his attempt to heal the boy."

"Has Harry said something now?" Patricia jumped in. "Is that why you asked to meet with us? Has he corroborated the abuse?"

Minerva clenched her jaw as she nodded tightly. "I arrived after the fact, but Poppy was called to –" she cut off abruptly as the fidelius charm kicked in, before rushing on, "– where he's staying for now. Harry told both Poppy and…" here, she cut herself off. It wouldn't do to mention Sirius in present company.

Although… Albus had said that without concrete proof, they couldn't free Sirius. Something had sounded slightly off in his explanation a year ago. Surely, as the head of the Wizengamot, he could have called for a trial? Why then, did he not? And he needn't have gone through Fudge at all. Amelia, as the head of the DMLE, would be a much better option.

"Minerva?" Amelia ventured quietly, somewhat alarmed by her former professor's sudden silence.

The transfiguration mistress drew herself back to the present with a start. She offered up a shaky smile before deciding to throw caution to the winds. While she would love to become Harry's guardian, she knew what he really needed was his godfather. Perhaps she could talk Sirius into sharing guardianship. That might make it a slightly more favorable option with the DMLE and OCW.

"Before I continue, will you promise to hear me out before making any decisions?"

Amelia and Patricia shared a look of apprehension, before agreeing to the older woman's terms. Minerva smiled again. "Thank you. This is a bit of a tangent, but I believe the two issues will overlap in a way that should become quite clear in a bit. Amelia, are you aware that Sirius Black never received a trial?"

Patricia winced slightly at the escaped convict's name, but Amelia only narrowed her eyes in thought. "No, I was not aware, although I still don't see the overlap."

"Well, Sirius, as Harry's godfather, would be able to take over his guardianship."

"Surely not!" Patricia yelped, drawing several pairs of eyes to their table. She wilted slightly under a disapproving glare from the professor.

"The lack of trial brings up several interesting questions, does it not?" Minerva continued, as if there had been no interruption. "Especially since he is innocent."

Silence.

And then, "How do you know this?" Amelia asked intently, locking gazes with the older woman.

Minerva smiled again, this time a bit more reminiscently. "Harry, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger met him for the first time a little over a year ago. Coincidentally, it was also the first time they met Peter Pettigrew."

"Peter Pettigrew's been dead for over a decade!" Patricia jumped in again.

Minerva frowned at her former student. "I assure you, he has not. Potter, Weasley, and Granger met both him and Black, where they learned that Lily and James had switched Secret Keepers to Peter without telling anyone. After You-Know-Who's disappearance, it was Sirius who tracked down Peter, not the other way around. Peter set Sirius up, and then cut off his own finger before transforming into a rat and making his escape. Apparently, he is also an illegal animagus."

More silence met that explanation. Amelia bit her lip in concentration, mentally calculating all she would need to do to reverse this travesty. She spared a moment to curse her predecessor to the seven levels of Hell and back. Even if they were reeling from a war, everyone deserved to be given a trial. And with Veritaserum, the truth could easily be determined. The tricky part now would be getting the current government to allow Sirius' testimony without him getting Kissed first.

Finally, the department head spoke. "I assume Mr. Black is at a safe location for the time being?" On Minerva's nod, she continued. "Good. As long as Fudge is in control, I don't give him good odds on making it to a trial, should he turn himself in, so I will trust him to remain where he is. The first thing I would like to do is speak with Mr. Potter, both about his relatives, and his recollection of this meeting with Black and Pettigrew. Would you be able to make him available to me within the next few days?"

Minerva nodded again. "I would prefer to do all this without Albus knowing, if possible." On Amelia's raised eyebrow, Minerva shook her head in exasperation. "I know he has good intentions, but sometimes I swear that man wears blinders. He's so focused on this end goal, that he is blind to the lives he is ruining in the process. He knew of Sirius' innocence that very night, but since Pettigrew escaped, he told Harry that he could do nothing. He was the head of the Wizengamot, for Merlin's sake! He could have demanded a trial!"

"So why didn't he?" Amelia asked quietly.

That brought Minerva up short. Why hadn't he? The million dollar question. "I believe he wanted Harry to remain with his relatives, for reasons unknown. Had Sirius been freed, he would have been able to contest that placement, and he most likely would have won." That explanation certainly did not place the headmaster in a kind light, but it had a certain element of truth to it that none of them could contest.

Minerva shook herself off. "I will collect Harry, and we shall meet you tomorrow afternoon. How does right here at two thirty sound?"

Amelia and Patricia both nodded their agreement, and the threesome broke up. The two ministry workers headed back to their offices, and Minerva returned to Hogwarts, after making a quick stop by headquarters to inform Sirius and Molly of her plans; she knew they would be able to cover the young teen's absence for the afternoon, and Albus would never be the wiser. She chose, however, to omit the possibility of Sirius being freed from her explanation. It would not do to inspire false hope, after all.

She, on the other hand, fostered some very real hope that things would truly work out for the better. It was always good to have the head of the DMLE on your side, even more so when that person was Amelia Bones. She truly was a much better head than Crouch had been. For example, she actually cared about upholding the law. And now that she had been made aware of such a gross miscarriage of justice, Minerva knew that she would not stop until the truth came out.

**XXX**

Harry bit his lip nervously as he sat down next to his transfiguration professor. They were a few minutes early to meet Madame Bones and Ms. Welding, which gave him some time to work on his nerves. McGonagall hadn't told him much about what would happen this afternoon, only that in order to remove him from his relatives' care, he would need to talk with this woman from the Office of Child Welfare. Madame Bones was to be at the meeting in her capacity as head of the DMLE, to determine whether or not she could prosecute the Dursleys. Harry wasn't sure he wanted that to happen. He really just wanted to forget they ever existed and move on with his life.

He also wasn't sure what he thought about his professor knowing about his childhood. As much as he trusted adults, he thought he could trust McGonagall – although, that incident in his first year, where she had failed to take him seriously when he had shared his concerns about the Philosopher's Stone, counted against her. But she had proven to be a good witch to have on his side, and he was glad she was willing to go against Dumbledore for him. It confused him, but he was grateful for it, nonetheless.

McGonagall had also mentioned something about him needing to tell Madame Bones about what had happened in the Shrieking Shack at the end of his third year. Once out of the house, and away from Sirius' prying ears, she had explained that Madame Bones was aware of Sirius' innocence, but needed to hear his account in order to help build the case. The professor had impressed upon him that it might be some time before they could get his godfather a trial, but it was a step in the right direction.

The door opened, and Harry looked up to see two middle-aged women making their way towards him. He vaguely recognized the one on the left, and thought it might be because of her resemblance to her niece, Susan. They both had the same facial structure, though Susan's had not yet been weathered by age or experience.

Amelia offered her hand as she took a seat across from the young man, mentally examining what she saw in front of her, and feeling her determination to do right by him go up a notch. His grip was firm, and he met her gaze steadily, if not a little nervously. She could see the clear signs of malnourishment, and wondered how much he had been allowed to eat all summer. It didn't look like a lot. There was faint evidence of bruising around his neck, mostly invisible, testimony to Poppy's skilled healing. She had been able to get them to fade, but it would take a few days for them to disappear completely. Most healers would either use a bruise salve, which would take several days to work, or leave the bruises to heal on their own, unable to deal with the delicate work of healing the small blood vessels. But Poppy Pomfrey had been a healer for a long time, and the evidence showed.

As for the boy himself, she saw a nervous but well-mannered young man, on the cusp of adulthood; he seemed slightly off balance, and she allowed herself a small smile, hoping to reassure him. Discreetly, she pulled out her wand and cast a few notice-me-not and minor repelling charms, to ensure that they would not be interrupted.

After greeting Ms. Welding, they were ready to begin.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with us, Mr. Potter," Amelia started, making sure to offer the young man another smile, to ease his nerves. "I want to start by assuring you that there are no wrong answers, here. We simply want to hear your story."

Harry glanced over at Professor McGonagall, and upon seeing her reassuring smile and nod, returned his attention to the officials in front of him. "What do you want to know?" he asked quietly.

Amelia turned to her colleague, deferring to the head of the OCW for this part. Her job would come later.

Patricia's smile was warm and caring, as she took in the boy in front of her. She had been working in this department for almost twenty years, and would celebrate her seventh year as head of the department this coming winter. Every time she had to deal with these cases, she felt her heart break and harden just a little bit more. But this particular situation might just be her undoing. Harry Potter was hailed as a hero – or at least, he had been, before Fudge's personal smear campaign, via what she used to see as a reputable source of news. He had rid their world of one of the worst dark wizards of their generation. And afterwards? The world had forgotten him. They had gone on with their celebrating, and he had been shunted off to the side, just one more statistic, an orphan of the war. The world had rejoiced, and conveniently forgotten about the child who had made it all possible. She suddenly found herself disgusted.

"Why don't you start by telling us a little bit about your childhood?" she asked, keeping her voice friendly.

Harry nodded slightly, and began to speak. For almost a quarter of an hour, he talked about his life growing up; how he had been belittled and yelled at for any indiscretion his aunt and uncle could find, and many that they simply made up. He spoke about how he had been punished for any and all errors he had made, and for many things that had been, in fact, his cousin's fault. He talked about not being allowed to do well in school, and spending long amounts of time without food or drink, locked up in his cupboard bedroom for days at a time. He told the adults about the beatings, how he learned from an early age, the difference between bruises and broken bones. He once again recounted the story of how he had received the smattering of scars across his shoulder.

When he was done, none of the three women had dry eyes. Harry looked down, embarrassed, and started a moment later, when he felt McGonagall's hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

He felt his face heat slightly, and kept his eyes pointed down, afraid of what he might see if he looked at the three witches surrounding him.

Amelia excused herself quietly, going to the counter to get drinks for them, thankful that she had had the foresight to exchange some Galleons for pounds, and thankful that she actually knew how to handle Muggle money.

Returning with four cups of tea a few minutes later, she had herself much more under control, and she could see that the same was true for Patricia and Minerva. Harry just looked embarrassed and slightly afraid.

After allowing a few minutes for them all to drink, and gain further control, Amelia reached out and gently laid her hand on Harry's arm. She filed away the slight flinch for later thought, but refused to let go. She gave him another moment to get himself under control, before she spoke. "I believe I speak for all of us, Harry," she said, looking at the other two women before focusing back on the young man, "when I tell you how proud of you I am."

Harry jerked slightly, looking up at her with a slightly confused expression. One she thought she understood; Harry wasn't used to people telling him things like that. He was used to anger and belittlement, annoyance and rage. Once more, she cursed Voldemort, Dumbledore, the Dusleys, and anyone else who might have had something to do with Harry's horrendous childhood.

"So what happens now," Harry asked quietly.

Amelia withdrew her hand, sensing that her close proximity was putting him on edge. She looked over at Patricia, in an indication for the other woman to answer.

Patricia leaned forward and smiled gently. "As the head of the Office of Child Welfare, I have the power to remove you from your current home. As I feel that the living conditions you have been exposed to are unacceptable, I will file the paperwork to do so immediately. As long as I have the signature of the head of the DMLE, there is no need for anybody else to be aware of such a change of your situation." She saw the relief on his face, and was unsure whether it was the thought that he would never need to go back to his relatives, or the fact that it could be done quietly, without Fudge, or anyone who would report back to Voldemort being any the wiser. She suspected it might be a little of both.

She also saw a slight question on his face, and hurried on to answer it. "As for your new guardian, Professor McGonagall has offered her services." This earned said professor a shocked look.

Minerva smiled warmly, though there was a slight hint of uncertainty behind it. Now that the moment had been presented to her, she couldn't believe how much she wanted to be there to take care of him. The possibility of him saying no hadn't even crossed her mind before now. "I would be proud to care for you, Harry," she said, looking him in the eye and trying to convey her desire to do just that.

Slowly, Harry nodded, still looking dazed and confused. "Why?" he asked in a whisper, and then looked down, embarrassed, as if he hadn't meant to voice the query out loud.

Minerva, however, thought it was a good question. And she was certain that her answer might make or break her entire relationship with the boy. She shifted slightly so that she was facing him head on, noting that both Amelia and Patricia had settled back slightly, almost like they were trying to give the two some private time to work this out.

"Harry," she started, and waited until he looked up. "I know you've always seen me as your professor, but I've never seen you as just another student." That earned her an almost grimace, and she mentally shook herself. Of course he would immediately think of that. "It has nothing to do with that scar, Mr. Potter," she clarified, and gave herself a mental pat on the back when she saw him relax slightly, almost relieved. "Your parents were two of my favorite students, and after they graduated, we became friends. When you were born, I was right behind Sirius and Remus in storming your mother's hospital room. Lily told me later that they had considered naming me Godmother, but in the end, they chose Alice Longbottom." Harry jerked in surprise, and Minerva guessed he hadn't known. She filed that away as a topic to discuss later. "I will always regret not fighting harder when Albus made his decision to leave you with your relatives, and when I saw you again after ten years, I was struck by how much like your parents you were. Not only in looks," she smiled in remembrance. "You do look so much like your father, it's true, but you have all of Lily's spirit, and James' sense of honor and duty. You have the best of your parents in you, Harry, and beyond that, you truly are an amazing young man that I am delighted to have the honor of knowing." Here, Harry looked down, very embarrassed. He wasn't used to his stern professor showing so much emotion or pride, especially in him.

And apparently, she wasn't done. "And even if your grades don't currently reflect it, I'm certain that you have all of your parent's talent."

Harry winced slightly, knowing that his grades were less than stellar, and knowing the reason for it. Even after four years, he still couldn't kick the habit of underperforming. Although, now, it had more to do with making Ron and Hermione feel more comfortable, than trying to avoid the punishment of outscoring Dudley. Heaven forbid if Hermione were to find out that he spent many nights reading and re-reading his textbooks, or that he had owl ordered several supplementary books from Flourish and Blotts at the beginning of the summer, which he had already read through – twice. He was certain that if he really put in the effort he used to, before learning that doing his best would only bring him pain, he would rival Hermione for the top spot in their class. He was more content, however, to sit back and let her have it. He had the feeling she needed to be the best more than he did, and he didn't begrudge her that.

Minerva noticed the wince, and she knew that she had probably hit the nail right on the head, as the muggles would say. She couldn't resist donning her stern professor tone, as she admonished, "If I were to take on your guardianship, Mr. Potter, I would expect nothing less than your best. You owe it to yourself to be the best you can be."

Slowly, Harry raised his head to meet his possible guardian's stare head on. He seemed to be searching for something, and Minerva wasn't willing to admit how awed and unnerved she was by his steady gaze. He was assessing, penetrating, but at the same time, reassuring. In that moment, she was slightly reminded of Dumbledore, with the quiet power he seemed to be asserting.

After a few moments of silence, he nodded, just once, what seemed to be an agreement either to her claims of his intelligence, or his acceptance of her guardianship. Or possibly both.

His gaze transferred back to the ministry employees, giving Minerva a chance to collect herself. She had known for years now that Harry had the makings of a great leader in him, but this was the first time she had really seen it. Unintentionally, her mind drifted off to a conversation she had had with Albus concerning this years fifth year Prefects, and his desire not to burden Harry any more than he already was. For a moment, she compared Harry with her alternative choice of Ron Weasley. She couldn't help but admit that Ron paled significantly in comparison to the man in front of her. While she knew that the youngest Weasley male was capable of shouldering the burden, she just felt instinctively that people would respond better, and follow more willingly, Harry. They would listen to him in a way they never would Ron. She had caught a glimpse of the man underneath the mask, in Harry's assessing gaze, and she knew that, with proper care and nurturing, eventually, that mask could disappear, and all they would see was the leader he truly was.

Patricia had waited while student and professor worked it out, and when that was over, and Minerva seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, she drew Harry's attention back to herself. "Is this an acceptable plan to you, Harry?" she asked seriously, making sure he understood the gravity of the decision. "Minerva has said that she is aware of the closeness you feel to the Weasley family, which could be an alternative, if you feel that the current proposition would be unwelcome."

Harry paused and considered. He did like staying with the Weasleys. He loved their home, and he loved how welcome they made him feel. But as he stopped and really thought about it, he realized that he had always felt like a guest there. A welcome guest, but he was always Ron's friend, visiting for a week or two in the summer. The Burrow was always loud, and busy, and whenever he was there, he couldn't help but long for some solitude and silence.

Glancing over at his professor, who seemed to be collecting herself, as she turned back to watch him, he realized that he didn't even need to think about it. Professor McGonagall _wanted_ him. It might be a little strange, and he hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would understand, but when he really considered what was best for _him_, accepting the transfiguration mistress' offer was it.

"I think I'd like to stay with Professor McGonagall," he said quietly, turning back to Patricia.

Minerva almost beamed with happiness. "Nothing would make me happier," she stated firmly and positively. "And I think, if we are to cultivate a more personal relationship, outside of school, you should call me Minerva." Harry almost blanched as he looked at her, trying to imagine calling his professor by her given name. Minerva smiled. "Or perhaps, Aunt Minerva," she amended. "Had you grown up with your parents, I am certain that's what you would have called me, anyway." Her tone was almost wistful, and Harry found himself wishing for that reality as well. It certainly sounded nice.

Patricia made slightly more of a deal of gathering up her dirty cup than necessary, to draw the attention back her way. "I will take care of the paperwork when I get back to my office," she confirmed. "I'll do it myself, and file it discreetly. No one else will be the wiser unless you tell me otherwise." At Minerva's grateful nod, she stood up. "I'll take my leave now, to get all this taken care of, and I'll leave the three of you to talk about that _other_ matter." Harry glanced sharply at Amelia, suspecting that in some ways, the next conversation might be even harder than the last. At least that had turned out all right. He would hate to gather up any hope of getting his godfather pardoned, only to have it squashed down.

Patricia offered up her hand to shake, first Minerva, and then Amelia, and finally, Harry. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Harry, and I hope to have a chance to do so again, soon, preferably under better circumstances."

Harry nodded, but couldn't quite get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth to say anything. Patricia seemed to understand, because with a final nod, she quickly disappeared, leaving the three of them alone.

Amelia turned back to her former professor and the professor's new charge, and made an executive decision. She quickly gathered up the remaining empty cups, and headed up to the counter to return them, coming back a few moments later with three glasses of water. Harry quickly attacked his with a nod of thanks, drinking half of it in one sip.

When his mouth felt less like sandpaper, Harry set down the glass, and steeled himself before looking at Amelia.

She nodded slightly, and then leaned forward. "Mr. Potter, Minerva has told me quite a fascinating story concerning a betrayal, a rat, revenge, and a lack of a trial. You'll understand, of course, if I ask to hear your story, before going any further."

Harry turned his assessing stare on the DMLE head, who was not ashamed to admit – if only to herself – that such a gaze on a fifteen year old slightly unnerved her. after all, it wasn't like anyone else would be privy to that particular thought, right? A portion of her brain already started considering how to recruit him to the aurors. If what she could see in that stare was any indication, he would make a great one – there was power, and confidence, and a clear sense of right and wrong.

He blinked, and everything she knew she had seen was gone – not vanished, but no longer visible to the casual observer. She thought she could still see a trace of it, however, in the way he straightened slightly, and began to tell his story, leaving no detail out, from finding Scabbers in Hagrid's hut, to Sirius dragging Ron to the Shrieking Shack, to Snape's unfortunate arrival, to Sirius and Remus revealing the truth, to Remus' inopportune transformation, to the Dementors, to waking up in the hospital wing. Here, he faltered there, unsure of how to continue, considering the laws he and Hermione had broken that night.

Amelia saw his hesitation, and offered him a reassuring smile. "Whatever happened, Harry, you won't get in trouble. I just want to know the truth."

Harry met her gaze evenly for a moment, before nodding decisively, and continuing. He told the DMLE head about the time turner, and rescuing Buckbeack, driving back the Dementors, and freeing Sirius.

When he was finished, Amelia sat back and thought. Outwardly, she projected a calm façade, but inside, she was seething. Fudge knew. Even if it was just the word of three teenagers and a werewolf, he still should have looked into it. He should have brought her in, and let her investigate. She had taken a cursory glance at the old case, after her first meeting with Minerva, and she was appalled at how weak it really was. Every criminal was entitled to a trial, and the fact that he had spent twelve years, illegally, in Azkaban meant that, even if he was guilty, according to the letter of the law, they wouldn't be allowed to hold him any longer. Any decent solicitor would be able to get him off on those grounds alone. And once she had taken a second glance at the actual evidence, the case just fell apart even more. There were no real witnesses to who was actually the Potter's secret keeper; it was all just speculation and word of mouth. And once she had had the opportunity to think about it, if Black _had_ blown Pettigrew up, wouldn't there be more than just a finger? Even if that were the largest piece, wouldn't there be blood, bone fragments, anything else? Whoever had actually investigated the scene hadn't included anything like that in the report, which made her wonder if they had actually done any sort of investigation, or if Crouch had just thrown Black in Azkaban and then considered the case closed. She suspected that to be the case, and if she had her way, heads would role. Someone needed to pay, and since she couldn't take Crouch to task for his grievous error in judgment, she would just have to settle for Fudge. The man was truly an awful minister, and he was proving that more and more with each passing day. All he had needed to do a year ago was call for a trial. If Black was guilty, there wouldn't be any harm done, and if not, he could have claimed to be the minister who had corrected such an awful mistake made by his predecessor. It really had been a win-win situation, back then. Now, if the truth were to come out, it would no doubt end his career. Something she was hoping to bring about more and more as the days wore on.

Ordering her thoughts, she focused back on Harry, who was looking at her with a slightly nervous expression. She figured he must be worried about the fate of his godfather, now that a ministry official knew he was in contact with the escaped felon. She smiled. "As I already told Minerva, I believe Sirius should stay where he is for the time being. I quite frankly don't trust the minister to leave him in good health until trial, if he were to turn himself in." Harry paled slightly, even as he smirked at her obvious dig at the man who was currently running his own personal smear campaign towards the boy wizard. "I believe you, Harry. We've just met, but you've given me no reason not to. You seem like an honest young man, and I respect that. Susan also speaks highly of you, which can only count in your favor. And I remember Sirius from Auror training. Both he and your father were incredibly talented, and would have been top aurors in the department, had things gone differently." Harry straightened.

"My father was an auror?" he broke in, sounding eager.

Amelia almost winced, and Minerva definitely did.

"When we get back, we'll tell you some stories about your parents," Minerva promised. For the first time, she truly realized how little Harry knew about his family. His parents' occupations was just one small piece in a larger puzzle. She realized that he probably didn't even know the Potter's were an Ancient and Noble house. These were things he would need to be aware of in the near future, if he were to take his place in wizarding society. Once again, she cursed Dumbledore for keeping him ignorant.

Harry nodded, eyes wide and hopeful at the promise.

Amelia coughed lightly, and Harry returned his attention to her. she smiled again, and continued, "I regret that I am just as guilty as anyone for not looking any deeper. We all just accepted what we were told, but I took another look at the case last night, and I am astounded at just how shoddy the work was. If Crouch had just called for a trial, none of this would have happened. Even without Veritaserum, the case would fall apart if we were to bring it to court now."

"So can we?" Harry broke in again, leaning forward slightly.

Amelia grimaced slightly. "That's where things get difficult. With the current administration, it is far more likely he will receive the Kiss before we ever get a chance to submit any evidence in his favor." Harry winced, but Amelia pressed on, the beginnings of an idea forming in her mind. "What we need is absolute proof. Memories, for example, would provide such verification. We have a projection penseive that we use in trials; if I could get your memory of that night in the Shrieking Shack, combined with a memory of your parents using Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper, that could convince enough people to allow Sirius to present himself for questioning, unharmed."

Harry nodded. "I can do that," he replied firmly, vowing to himself to do whatever was necessary to get his godfather cleared.

Amelia smiled at his resolution. "In order to present the memories as evidence, I will need to extract them on record, with two aurors present. Will you be able to come to the ministry tomorrow morning? I will open up my private floo, so you will be able to go directly to my office, with no one the wiser."

After a questioning glance at Minerva, Harry nodded. "I'll be there," he answered.

Amelia's mouth twisted slightly. "I also need to get Sirius' testimony under the same guidelines," she admitted, considering which aurors she thought could be trusted with such a task.

Minerva shifted. "If I may," she began, and on Amelia's nod, continued. "Kingsley, and Tonks should be able to provide their services. Both are exemplary aurors, and both are aware of Sirius' situation."

Amelia frowned at that. If they were aware, why had they not brought it to her attention? A question she would have to pose to them at her earliest convenience. Outwardly, she simply nodded. "Very well. The three of us will meet you and Sirius in my office at nine, tomorrow morning. Does that work?"

Harry nodded his agreement, before Minerva stood up and indicated their need to leave. "We should to get back before Albus is any the wiser," she offered in explanation. Amelia nodded her understanding, and shook both their hands before they walked out of the café together, separating on the street outside.

Before they headed in different directions, Harry stopped the DMLE head. He paused for a moment, meeting her stern gaze one last time with his penetrating one. With a simple and heartfelt "Thank you," he and the transfiguration professor disappeared into the crowd, leaving Amelia to watch them vanish, once more contemplating on the amazing young man she had finally had the pleasure to meet.

With one final sigh, she shook herself off and headed back to the office and the pile of paperwork sitting on her desk just waiting to be finished.

_This chapter totally exploded! It was not supposed to be that long =] it is so long, that this is now officially going to be a three shot. I was hoping to tie it up in just two chapters, but rather than keep going with this, I will post it as is, and add another chapter as soon as I have it written. So stay tuned!_

_I just have to say, I have no idea where McGonagall came from. That was totally unplanned, until she showed up._

_And finally: please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note**

**This is that annoying author's note that I absolutely hate, because you've been waiting months for an update, and then you get so excited when you see a new chapter uploaded, but it turns out to be a fake, and is just an infuriating author telling you some sob story about why there haven't been any updates.**

**That being said, this story is officially abandoned. I haven't decided if I'm going to take it down or not, but the reason it's abandoned is because I have taken my original idea and revamped it. It will now be posted under the title: **_**It's OK Not To Be OK (But I Promise, I'm Trying)**_**.**

**That story will be posted with one update a week until its completion. I hope you all go to check it out, and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading this one, and your comments are what inspired me to take a harder look at what I was writing, and go in the direction I did.**


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